


The Big House

by goddessofcruelty



Series: Big House [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical Fantasy, Dirty Talk, F/M, M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Hale is a thief and a scoundrel. He makes his way through the world swindling and cheating. The world dumped him on the front door of an orphanage, and he's been getting back at it ever since.</p><p>So when he rides into a small hamlet, fresh from fleecing a minor noble lady out of her jewels, and they welcome him with open arms, he plays right the fuck along.</p><p>Lord Argent? Sure. Feast? Abso-fucking-lutely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corullance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corullance/gifts).



> So [this](http://corullinterests.tumblr.com/post/84783596511/petopher-prompt-time-so-set-in-the-past-any) happened, then [this](http://goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com/post/84815480431/1234halefire-corullinterests-petopher) happened, then [this](http://1234halefire.tumblr.com/post/84819949863) happened, and then this fic happened.

Peter Hale is a thief and a scoundrel. He makes his way through the world swindling and cheating. The world dumped him on the front door of an orphanage, and he's been getting back at it ever since.

So when he rides into a small hamlet, fresh from fleecing a minor noble lady out of her jewels, and they welcome him with open arms, he plays right the fuck along.

Lord Argent? Sure. Feast? Abso-fucking-lutely.

It's not til he's safely deposited in his castle, if it can be called that, that he starts to think this may have been a bad idea.

It's rather small, as castles go, also drafty, being that at least half of it is falling down. Also, the books are as dismal as the fare and the furnishings are as old as the servants.

If he's going to turn any sort of profit, Peter's going to have to change things.

-

Chris Argent can't believe the words that he's hearing. “Are you sure you read that right?”

The man opposite the wooden slab table nods. “Aye, Chris. That's what it says. I can read some too.”

Chris takes the letter, folds it up carefully, and tucks in into his purse, retrieving a copper for the reader.

“Thank you.”

He thinks hard about it on the way home. He likes what he's got. Small spread, sure, but good for his horses. Of course, there's no saying that the new place won't be as good. And the letter was all official with a seal and everything.

He thinks on it over his supper of warmed over stew and day old bread.

Eventually, Chris feels like going is the only right choice.

He sends a letter to his daughter, who's away at a fancy school.

He gives his homestead to a young couple just starting out, who he thinks has a bright future ahead of them, and a breeding pair of his horses.

He ties the rest together, fills them with his meager things, and sets out for his new life.

-

“This place is a fucking _disaster_ ,” Peter snarls.

“A lord shouldn't be using that kind language.” His new housekeeper points a stern finger in his direction. She's not cowed by the fancy clothes and book learning this new Lord Argent has.

He keeps her because she doesn't cower away from him, and she's starting to get the place together. She's hired a whole new team, and though he's not sure about some of them, at least Boyd has improved the food dramatically.

His wife, Erica, on the other hand, has way too much sass, even if she is very efficient at her chores.

And there's something about her twin brother, the new butler. He's way too angelic and innocent looking. He's obviously up to something.

He seems to know his stuff, however. Or at least Peter assumes he does. Because Peter doesn't know _his_ stuff. He has to take their word on Lording. Without looking like he is.

This is not as much fun as it had originally sounded.

-

Chris comes in to town and the first thing he hears is all about this new Lord Argent. Well, he's of a mind to march right up to the door and give him what for. But by the time he's made it to the front gate, he's cooled somewhat. He's more curious now, and since he has the letter in his pocket and the ring that was sent with it, he's not particularly worried about the inheritance.

He meanders up the drive and side-eyes the place because it's bigger than any place he's ever been. Chris ties the lead mare off, and goes up to the door. He raps it with his knuckles the way that you do, and then waits.

After way too long, it opens, and a tall, young man, dressed in a really fancy suit, arches a perfect eyebrow at him. “Servant door is around the back. Take the horses there.”

Chris hates him on sight.

He trudges back to the horses, because he's just here to get a good look at the guy pretending to be him before he throws the imposter out, and he can't very well do that without getting in the house. He goes round back and raps on the door again, and there's a double of the butler, except this one's a girl and she's even less impressed by Chris.

“Stay.” She orders him like a dog and Chris arches a brow and thinks maybe he'll fire her right after that shady butler.

“Oh, heavens, there are horses.” A woman comes out of the door, and she's possibly even worse than the blonde. “Is there even a stable here?”

Erica puts two fingers in her mouth and emits an ear piercing whistle. Which sets off the horses and by the time Chris has them back under control, there's another newcomer.

At least this one looks like he's done an honest day's work in his life.

He offers his hand for a shake and Chris nods and returns. Also the only one with manners.

“Derek.”

“Chris.”

“Yes, yes.” The housekeeper is impatient. “Derek, are there stables?”

Derek side eyes her. “Yeah.” _Of course there are stables_ is clearly left unsaid.

Chris decides only Derek can stay.

“Take the animals then.”

She turns with a huff and Erica follows her into the house, but not before giving Chris the once over that he might take as an invitation if he didn't see the clear warning in Derek's eyes.

“She's married to the cook. He's very good with knives.”

Chris winces and follows Derek to the stables. Yeah, the cook will have to go too.

-

“Lydia... Who is that?”

Peter is watching from the library window as a shirtless Derek helps a shirtless Chris exercise the horses.

Lydia peeks out the window to see what he's looking at, and stares maybe a little too long before she turns back to him. “Well, Derek, I think you know, he's in charge of the dogs. The other'd be Chris, and I guess he does the horses.”

They watch in silence for about twenty seconds, and then Peter clears his throat. “Thank you Lydia.”

She nods and back away, and he hears her shoes going up the back stair.

No doubt herself and Erica would be watching from an upper room window.

Peter finds he can't blame them.

-

“Damn fine work, son.” Chris is grinning at Derek, who startles, blinks and then flashes a smile in return.

It's the first time Chris has ever seen him smile.

There's a giant crash inside the house, and they both arch brows at each other, then head to the back door.

Boyd hauls a basket full of ceramic shards out the door as they approach.

He fixes them with a glare and then stomps back inside.

Derek and Chris eye each other and then shrug in confusion.

“There a well close by? Wouldn't mind washing the dust off.”

Derek points to the left. “We got a real good pump too. Right over the far horse trough.”

“Lead the way.”

Chris follows Derek, and they each dip their hands under the cool running water from the pump and splash their faces. Derek grabs a bucket and fills it and then dumps some over his head, before offering it to Chris. He does the same.

-

“Mother of all that's holy.” Peter breathes out the words as he watches Chris sluice himself off with water.

“That's pretty much what Erica said, only with more colorful language.”

Lydia wanders in with his tea.

“And what was that crash I heard?” he asks waspishly.

She fixes him with a glare. “Your first round of tea.”

Peter turns back to the window. “I see I'm going to have to invest in better china.”

Lydia comes next to him and watches the two men flick water at each other.

“Or less pretty help.”

-

“You live on the estate?”

Derek shakes his head. “Only Erica and Boyd live here. Rest of us walk in from the village.”

“You and Lydia, and what was the angel-faced boy's name.?

Derek snorts. “That would be Isaac. He's a little shit is what he is.”

“Let me guess. You all grew up together.”

Derek nods. “Yup. Lydia's married to my brother, Scott. They got her place, since she never had brothers or sisters. Isaac's got his own place since Erica took up with Boyd here. I share a bachelor place with the schoolteacher.”

Chris nods. “What's his name?”

Derek chuckles. “Some godawful thing no one can pronounce. We call him Stiles.”

-

Peter sighs as the men wander out of view and then returns to his paperwork. Who knew that being a lord would require so much of it?

He thinks he's finally unlocked the secret of how the old lord had organized things, and the ledgers are making more sense.

He works on into the late evening, up until Lydia brings his night cap and then turns to leave for the evening.

“Where's the stableboy bedding down?” he asks casually.

Lydia eyes him over her shoulder. “In the stable.” Her tone clearly adds, _you idiot_.

He narrows his eyes at her but she just shrugs it off, and meets up with Derek and Isaac to head home.

Peter downs his shot of whiskey, and then another.

Courage fortified, he checks himself in the looking glass, and then wanders casually towards the stables.

-

“He looks like he's hunting for something.”

Erica stands at the window of their attic room.

Boyd looks over her shoulder.

“Can you blame him? That new man's almost as pretty as Derek.”

Erica turns and slides her right arm around his neck.

“I can't believe you dropped a whole tea service when he smiled.”

Boyd ducked his head and grumbled.

“I've never seen him smile before. It surprised me.”

Erica snickered as her free hand slid down along his muscular chest and stomach.

“No need to be shy darling. I know how much you'd like to sink your teeth into that.”

Her hand glides across the bulge pushing out the front part of his pants, before taking her time opening the fastening, and slipping her hand inside.

Boyd leans in and claims her lips, hips rolling against her grasp.

He is breathless when they part, and then he grins. “I'd rather have you any day.”

-

Peter makes his way through the courtyard and then slips into the cozy warmth of the stable. He gingerly steps along the small pathway between the stalls, peering around for the new man.

Chris suddenly comes out of a closed stall, and he's still shirtless and wet, but this time it's fresh scrubbed and Peter can smell the scent of the soap that he's used.

Chris is rubbing his head with a towel, and Peter can tell the moment that he's caught out.

Chris turns and steps forward, and the way he's looking Peter over is making him weak in the knees.

Which is _completely_ not how Peter had thought this would go, because hello he's the lord and this guy is the...well-muscled shirtless man who is crowding him up against a wall.

Peter clears his throat as his back hits the wall. “Um. Yes, hello. I'm Lord Peter.” He smooths down his expensive silk shirt and tried to regain his composure. If you'd just, step back...”

He's _sure_ he said step back but Chris gets closer and yes, now his body is flush against Peter's and he is having some difficulty breathing.

“I know _exactly_ who you are.”

Peter's heart skips a beat and he's about to say something, but Chris grabs hold of the shirt and tears it right down the front. And the faux lord gasps and narrows his eyes and oh Chris will be _paying_ for that...

But Chris is going to his knees and, well, of _course_ Peter reacts to that, anybody would.

The stableboy ignores the issue pressing against his chest and turns his attention to sucking a mark into Peter's abdomen just inside his hip.

Somehow, it's one of the most erotic things that the swindler has ever had happen to him.

“Chris...” he says needily, and the mouth finally turns away from Peter's skin with a chuckle.

“I see you already know my name.”

He rises smoothly and Peter openly ogles the musculature that's required for that.

Chris curls a hand around the back of Peter's neck and escorts him to the door that he came in.

“I want you to whisper that name, and press your fingers into my mark, when you touch yourself tonight.”

He shoves Peter out the door and closes it behind him.

The lord of the manor hears the distinctive noise of a lock sliding home.

Somewhat confused, Peter makes his way indoors, getting more and more annoyed at the man's presumption.

That doesn't mean he doesn't follow his orders.

 


	2. Chapter 2

By the morning (after he's brought himself off _twice_ , moaning Chris' name into his pillow, and then dreamed of doing them doing so _much_ more together), Peter has decided that he's going to lay down the law with this stableboy.

Tomorrow.

Because today, he's apparently throwing a dinner party.

Lord Peter learns of this fact when Isaac asks him which suit he'd like pressed for the evening.

Which is a thing that the angelic looking butler/“in charge of dressing the lord guy” has never asked him before, so he's understandably confused.

“LYDIA.” Peter roars from the top of the stairs, still in his dressing gown.

“I swear you have the worst manners, hollering at me before I've had my tea. Well, out with it, what's so important that you have to ruin my morning? And you better not have put Boyd off because he's planning on making his special pastries for the party.”

Lydia is standing beneath the balcony looking up at him with her hands on her hips, and somehow makes it seem like she's looking down her nose at him.

“Also, lets _try_ not to come wandering out with our robe wide open, and everything showing, in the future. That's a _terrible_ example to set for the young staff. Why, you're like to make poor Isaac's eyes bug out, and its a good thing that young Derek is off running the hounds. Himself and that new Chris spend altogether too much time in the altogether if you catch my meaning.”

She clucked her tongue and shook her head ,and Peter had just enough time to shamefacedly pull the side of his robe together to cover himself before Lydia was off again.

“Now, off to get dressed and if you want to have a conversation with me about the evening's entertainment, we will do it like civilized people over a breakfast tea.”

Peter is halfway dressed when he realized what Lydia had said, and then an odd flash of anger rushes through him.

How dare that Derek be so...so _familiar_ with Chris. He _belongs_ to Peter.

And then he stands stock still because no, Peter Hale _does not_ get attached.

No, Peter uses and leaves, and he needs to _never_ talk to Chris again, because he's _not_ being the mark on this one.

Not that they actually _talked_ much, and Peter's thumb is absently rubbing over the spot that Chris had marked.

“Are you alright, sir?” Isaac's wide blue eyes are tracking the unconscious movement, and Peter flushes and pulls his hand away from the spot.

He scowls at the butler who he's _certain_ is mocking him, and finishes dressing, but Lydia doesn't make it to tea because of some sort of emergency to do with the party that he's apparently hosting without _anyone_ having remembered to mention it.

Peter wanders into the kitchen with a stack of ledgers in hand, in search of his erstwhile housekeeper because he really needs to know what this gathering is going to cost him.

Boyd is there alone, however, and he takes the opportunity to ask the faux lordling his favorite dishes, and it turns out they both have a fondness for this certain type of imported fish.

They are deep in discussion of preparation, because while Peter is a swindler, he's one with good taste, when the door opens, and Derek and Chris walk through it with identical scowls on their faces.

They are both wearing tailored tuxes identical to Isaac's, only where the blonde butler's hangs on his lanky frame somewhat, these highlight the men in all the right places.

Boyd drops the colander of shrimp at the same time that Peter drops his books, both staring at the fancied up men.

Who exchange looks, shrug and turn around to leave, which gives their collective audience (because Erica is now peeking through the door after that crash) a very good view of how the dress pants frame their backsides.

Boyd is swearing in some other language and Peter is muttering under his breath, while Erica snickers in the background.

“Whatever it is, fix it.” Lydia pushes through the door, ignoring the shrimp on the floor, and eyes Peter picking up his books. “I take it you've seen our waitstaff for the evening. Best I could do, though they're hamfisted, and as likely to drop the wine as pour it. I cannot _believe_ that both the hired men ran off in the time since the invites were sent.”

She purses her lips and considers Erica a moment. “Scott'll be in later to help Isaac with the men, but I'm afraid you'll have to handle the ladies on your own. We can all be grateful that they usually bring their own staff. At least they've got some sense.”

She narrows her eyes at everyone. “And under _no circumstances_ is anyone to let Stiles know that there's a party tonight.”

“There's a party tonight?”

Lydia doesn't turn around, doesn't move, just presses her lips together in a thin line. “No. Go home Stiles.”

Peter picks up the last book and looks up at the newcomer.

“What's a Stiles?”

“That'd be me, name's practically unpronounceable, Derek's the only one who can say it,” and Stiles' hand is slid into his, and the younger man is pumping it enthusiastically, and then sneaking one of the treats Boyd is working on, completely unfazed by the glare he gets in return.

“So, why are we having a party, Lyds?” And he's somehow got one of the books that Peter was carrying and is absently flipping through it while munching and carrying on the conversation.

“ _We_ are not having a party, Stiles. Lord Peter is. To introduce himself to the other lords and such in the area, get to know his neighbors as it were.”

Stiles has produced a pencil out of nowhere, and is scribbling in the book.

“Terrible math. Where is the old boy? I hear he's shit at lording but real pretty.” He winks at Peter and takes a bite of an apple that he's produced out of nowhere, which earns him another glare from Boyd.

“Oh for the- Stiles Stilinski!” Lydia is scandalized. “ _This_ is Lord Peter.”

And if Peter expected apologies, he was mistaken because Stiles just looked him up and down with more interest.

“Yeah, I guess you're pretty enough. Shit at maths though. Come here and look at this.”

He shoves supplies off an area of Boyd's counter, and pokes a long, elegant finger at the sums done there.

“You've got your percentages all wrong. Look.”

He starts scribbling and Peter is interested despite himself, and he can't help but be amused at the way both Lydia and Boyd are sputtering and protesting.

So they spend the next few minutes discussing the ledgers, until Stiles suddenly ceases the flow of constant conversation that's been spewing from him, and Peter looks up, startled.

Derek is in the doorway again, wearing the biggest scowl that Peter has ever seen, and its all directed at Stiles.

“This is your fault,” he hisses out while Stiles' honey-amber eyes rake slowly over him in his fancy outfit.

“I will gladly take credit for that,” Stiles drawls slowly, with a deep husk to his voice, and Peter arches a brow and hides a smirk.

_So that's how it is._

Boyd is studiously ignoring everyone, but _especially_ ignoring Derek, until he suddenly snaps and start throwing things out of nowhere, and Stiles and Peter duck one way, Derek the other.

Stiles starts talking again, Peter doesn't even know about what, because he's distracted by Chris in his serving uniform again. He's going through the table settings with Isaac, who is supernaturally patient and kind, and it's just odd, no one is that sweet.

_It's unnerving, is what it is._

And then Isaac catches sight of Stiles at the same time as the teacher catches sight of him, and Peter is shown what he's always suspected to be there all along.

Isaac and Stiles just _light_ into one another.

It's so vehement that it takes Peter a few moment to realize that they're viciously arguing...in _Latin_. No wait, that was French. And that, that one he _knows_ is Hebrew.

Lydia stalks by from across the room, doesn't even slow down, just grabs the back of Stiles' collar and hauls him off, still sputtering at Isaac who is giving as good as he gets, and that was _definitely_ a quote from Shakespeare.

Stiles is deposited in Peter's library, handed the ledgers that Lydia tears from Peter's hands, and abandoned.

Lydia is clenching her jaw. “If he ruins this gathering, so help me.”

Peter barely hears because he's staring in awe at Chris who is now conversing with Isaac in flawless French as they resume their task.

Isaac is perfectly composed, no trace of the spitting housecat he had been only seconds before.

Peter feels mildly smug that he had guessed that Isaac wasn't the angel he acted.

Takes one to know one.

Lydia smacks him the chest with a leather bound folder, which he opens to see several parchment papers.

“This is all the information that your predecessor had on his neighbors. It would behoove you to learn what you can so that you may converse with them in such a way that I am not embarrassed to be working for you.”

It's only after he's three pages in, holed up in the library with a quietly muttering Stiles, that he realizes that Lydia has effectively done an end run around him.

_I wonder if she'd ever consider a life of crime._

“Yes!” Stiles suddenly yells out, startling Peter, and waves his hands in the air.

He brings the ledger over to Peter and plops it in his lap. “Sell plots 26, 41, and 94; reorganize your rent schedule, call in the interest that's owed on the stretch of land in the north, and sell the stake in the diamond mine in Africa, and you'll have enough to fix this place, with some left over for investments.”

Peter slowly blinks at the book, flips through it, and then grins up at Stiles.

“How would you like a job?”

-

Peter's still thinking about it when time comes for him to start getting ready for the gathering, acquisitive mind running over all the possibilities.

He doesn't look up as Isaac brings his bath is in, too busy making little notes to himself in a book.

It's not until there are hands reaching around his shoulder to unbutton his shirt that his concentration is broken.

_What is Isaac- hands too rough and calloused- oh my god.._

Chris is leaning over him, slowly unfastening his shirt, and all Peter can do is watch the nimble fingers as they move on his clothing.

His mind has just stopped working entirely and Peter silently obeys the unspoken command to lean forward as Chris slides the shirt from him.

Peter's undershirt is removed as well, nipples tightening as Chris' strong hands brush over them. One stays to pinch lightly, while the other goes to slide a thumb over Chris' mark.

“Did you do it, Peter?” Chris' whisper is hot against his ear. “Did you think of me? Was my name on your lips?”

Peter can't even believe how hard he is already, just from a bit of a touch and a whisper and he can't make any noise for fear of betraying himself, so he remains silent. His body does the talking for him, arching into the stableboy's touch, as that rough hand slides into the waist band of his pants.

Chris' free hand curls around the lord's neck, pressing into his windpipe just enough that it's a promise, not a threat.

The older man bites down on Peter's neck, right at the junction where it meets his shoulder, at the same time as his large hand squeezes around Peter's dick inside his pants.

Chris sucks hard at the bite mark while his hand moves forcefully back and forth, and it's just this side of too much, and Peter digs his nails into the sides of his chair and holds on.

One last swipe of his tongue, and Chris' mouth moves to the lord's ear next, whispering darkly into it, while he continues to stroke Peter off.

“You did, didn't you? I bet you pressed your face into your pillow so that no one would hear you. I can just imagine all the wanton noises that you make, writhing in your bed, imagining that it's my hand on you, that it's me inside you.”

Peter gasps and leans back into Chris, arching his hips up into the unrelenting grasp.

“Did you put your fingers inside you, pretend that it was me filling you up? Did you think about me holding you against that wall, sliding into you so _slowly_ that you are whimpering for it. Did you think about begging on your knees to taste me? I bet you beg so pretty, Peter.”

Chris' hand goes back to the nipple twisting it even harder this time, studying Peter's reaction and yes, he's definitely on board.

“You know what I'd like to do to you, Peter? I'd like to take that riding crop that I have hanging on my wall and takes it to your ass. Mark you up with it. Claim you as _mine_.”

That last was a deep growl in Peter's ear, and it's enough to send the lord over the edge, for him to cry out and spill over Chris' hand, spurting hot stripes of white into the fabric of his clothing.

Chris slowly strokes a few more times, and then pulls his hand away when Peter whimpers. He brings it to Peter's mouth and commands him to lick it clean.

Dazed and blissed out, Peter complies automatically, suckling on Chris' fingers as the older man continues to speak low into his ear.

“Suck me clean, Peter. Get those fingers nice and slick, because that's all you're going to get to prepare you, before I throw you over the bed and take you.”

Chris is as good as his word.

When he judges it's enough, he frees his fingers from Peter's mouth, making him lift up and lie down in the bed.

Chris folds down the waistband of Peter's pants, tugs it far enough that it's cupping his admittedly perfect ass. Which he is forced to swat it a few times, admiring how it pinkens, before digging his fingers into that soft flesh and pulling it apart, so that he can swipe his tongue along the dark cleft.

Peter's cry is muffled into the bedclothes, as Chris swirls his tongue around the tight pucker and then curls his tongue just slightly and slides it within.

The stableboy does this a few more time, then bring his spit slicked hand up, watching as his middle finger slides in slowly, to the hilt.

“That's my good boy,” he says approvingly to the lord squirming beneath him, as he pulls it back out and adds his index finger. “Look how good you're taking it for me.”

Chris hurriedly unfastens his own pants while he's talking to the fake lord.

He twists and crooks his fingers and Peter jerks with a surprised gasp, and Chris chuckles. “That's it, that's the spot isn't it, Peter?”

He slides his fingers back and then thrusts them in again, this time spreading and pulling them apart.

“Are you ready for me, Peter? You ready for me to make you mine?

Chris licks the palm of his free hand while the fingers of the other are fucking into Peter, and he slides it along his length, repeating the procedure until he's ready, smirking at the pleading from the man on the bed.

“I know you'd be begging for it,” Chris tells him softly as he lines himself up and presses slowly within.

“Oh, _Peter_..”

Chris is a little breathless now too, because nothing has ever felt so good _in his life_. The slick heat, the throbbing tightness, and he has to take a moment and just _breathe_.

“I wish you could see yourself like this, Peter, your little hole stretched tightly around me.” He runs a thumb along the rim and Peter jerks and squeezes under him.

“I bet that feels so good, doesn't it. Being filled up, claimed, _taken_.”

Chris starts to move now, fucking Peter hard and dirty because they probably don't have very much time.

The older man reaches and presses his fingers into the mark he had made, covering it over with bruises as he thrusts one twice, and then holds himself in, pulsing his seed into Peter.

Chris takes a few deep breaths, and then pulls out slowly with a gasp, reaching over to the now-lukewarm bath and swiping the cloth to clean himself up.

Peter is laying on the bed, and Chris drops the wet cloth onto him, and then zips himself up.

“You better get cleaned up for you party, my Lord.”


	3. Chapter 3

Peter's surprised to find that he's really enjoying himself. The edge of anxiety he'd had about the party dissipated after his little...assignation...with Chris earlier, and the outfit Lydia had procured for him was perfect.

Peter is handsome and charming, and he uses it to full effect in this gathering of the glitterati. The swindler is completely in his element.

It doesn't hurt that Stiles and he have come to an _arrangement_. Stiles' brain is wasted where he is.

The only wrinkle in the plan is Isaac, because they actually _cannot_ be in the same room without arguing.

Even now, in the midst of this important gathering, they're bickering, albeit in a more understated, subtle fashion. Peter's enjoying it immensely.

Isaac has deliberately not served Stiles in _every_ course of drinks and appetizers that has come around yet. Which is truly an incredible feat considering that he's done in it such a way that _no one else notices_.

For his part, Stiles is interjecting his stories with insults about Isaac in other languages, which his audience nods to uncomprehendingly.

They never once look in each other's direction, and yet this dance around each other is perfectly choreographed, and Peter wonders how long they've been at this.

“What happened there?” Peter asks Erica, chin pointing to the duo, as she comes by with flutes of champagne.

“Scott,” comes the succinct reply, and then she sweeps off, offering her tray to an elderly man and his ridiculously young wife.

The false lord's eyes then turn to Scott.

This whole group seems to orbit him, and with that sunny smile and upbeat disposition, Peter can understand why. There's no doubt that he's the group's center, the clique's leader.

Also, he's just as pretty as the rest of them.

_Seriously there must be something in the water here._

“ _Such_ a lovely place, Lord Argent!”

Peter is distracted by the advance of one of his guests, who just so happens to own an excellent quarry. However, he doesn’t seem to have the capital available to increase its output.

Fortunately, Peter has liquidity. And a ruthlessly brilliant accountant.

He introduces the nobleman to Stiles.

Before the end of the night, Peter has a promise for the stone he needs to rebuild, at an excellent discount no less. And since he's funding part of the venture, he'll make a percentage of future sales, as well the interest on the initial loan.

This legal swindling is almost as much fun as the illegal kind.

Peter could kiss Stiles.

-

Times comes for dinner and they settle down to an amazing feast. Boyd has really outdone himself.

After a nudge from Lydia, and a quick memorization of the card she has given him, Peter brings the chef out to be introduced to the guests, and he sees Boyd smile for the first time ever.

Erica is crying for some reason, and he means to ask, but dessert is served next, Derek and Chris bringing out the heavy tray of the most delicate and delicious pastries ever created.

And Peter is _not_ staring at the play of muscles underneath that incredibly sexy uniform. Nope, he just _really likes_ pastries.

-

After dessert, they've all adjourned to different rooms, the women to something called the solarium, ( Peter doesn't think he's ever been there), and the men to the library.

Chris and Derek watch them go and then Derek crosses his arms and leans back against the wall.

“He's doing a pretty good job.”

Chris nods. “If he keeps it up, I may be able to stay with my horses forever.”

“Speaking of,” Isaac pops his head back into the dining room. “Someone wants to talk horses, and well, he's shit at it.”

“On my way.” Chris winks at Derek, and leaves him and Scott to clear the table.

-

“This is...” Peter trails off a moment, not sure what to say, but Chris steps in smoothly.

“Master of the Horse for the estate, Chris if we're going for informal. Hear you got a couple fillies that need some working with?”

Chris is off and running, and Peter details Stiles to keep an eye on the two of them. Because he _cannot_ concentrate with Chris around.

It's not just that Peter can still feel the phantom hands on him, or the way those pants highlight that perfect ass.

Or the way a gaze from those blue eyes go right to his gut.(Or his heart, but Peter Hale doesn't _do_ feelings.)

But to add the confidence and intelligence that Chris displays, when talking about his beloved horses, well, it's all _too much_.

The swindler ducks from the library, trying to think of some plausible pretext were he asked, but no one bothers him.

Peter finds himself outside, settling on a bench with his champagne, looking out over an expanse of broken statuary and weed filled flower beds.

“My mother used to be in charge of these gardens.”

Scott settles himself next to Peter on the bench, and he thinks maybe he should be saying something about the help not sitting with the lords, but Peter is more curious about Scott's story, or maybe it's just the effect that Scott has on people. Either way, he remains silent and lets Scott talk.

“She would spend the entire winter planning them out, comparing and contrasting, drawing picture after picture of just how they ought to be. There's a vegetable garden patch out behind the stables and kennels, too.”

“Who does it now?” And somehow Peter's not ashamed to admit his ignorance in front of Scott. He's the least judgmental person the thief has ever known.

“No one, obviously.”

He looks pensive and is that a touch of longing?

“You any good with plants?”

Scott shrugs. “I've been known to have a decent touch.”

“Don't let him lie to you, he loves flowers more than he loves me.”

Scott smiles, that blinding flash of cheerfulness that makes everyone else want to match it, and leans back just as Lydia slides her arms around his neck.

“Don't let him talk you into giving him the Gardens, my Lord. He'll never come home again.”

“Too late,” Peter chuckles and Scott arches his brows up, then turns his sunshine on the faux lord.

“Really?”

Peter nods as he rises, brushing his clothing off.

“See Stiles about the details.”

Lydia snorts. “Not a chance. _I_ will handle Stiles.”

Peter can't decide who's going to win that contest.

-

By the time his guests go home, Peter's acquired a filly for breeding stock, and a percentage of the fee from Chris taking on the other two to train.

Stiles has managed to sell two of Derek's pups for hunting once they're trained, and Lydia has managed to wheedle several more concessions out of Stiles than Peter is totally comfortable with.

It's not until a grinning Scott tells him that Stiles was in love with Lydia most his life, that Peter realizes that Stiles isn't the only one who got played.

“That woman is amazing,” he says, watching Lydia orchestrate the cleanup chaos.

“That's why I married her.”

Scott is laughing and Peter can't help a chuckle. This crew is starting to grow on him.

Even Isaac.

Peter eyes the butler a moment, back to his usual angelic, perfect, beautiful self.

_Maybe_.

-

Chris brings out a bottle of champagne that he hid away earlier, and makes the entire crew sit down and partake.

There's enough for almost a full glass for all of them, and he raises his.

“To Lord Peter.”

The blue eyes crinkle with amusement and after a short laugh, everyone else raises theirs.

They've become terribly fond of the man, regardless of his inability to tell the truth about who he is.

After she takes a few sips, Lydia settles her glass down.

“How long are you going to let it go on?” she asks curiously.

“Forever?” Chris shrugs. “I like the horses. I don't like paperwork. Or socializing.”

Scott looks at the true lord Argent.

“You have to tell him. Even if you stay where you are. You can't have lies in a relationship.”

He and Lydia share a sad look, and Chris wonders what the story is there.

He leans back and shrugs. “I'm not sure it's going to be a relationship.”

Isaac snorts. “You are _so_ far gone on him.”

Chris points his finger at the angelic blonde.

“You're the first to be fired.”

Isaac flutters his lashes, using those big blue eyes to full effect. “I'm too pretty to-OW.”

Erica pulls her hand back into her lap, with a smirk.

“You keep those eyes under wraps, baby brother. That one's taken.”

“Baby bro- You are four minutes older than me. _Four_ _minutes_!”

Isaac narrows his eyes at her as he raises his voice, and Boyd rolls his eyes.

“Here we go again.”

Derek stomps in, the last to join the party, and he's grumbling as he lifts the glass that they poured for him.

“I can't choose. And I can't believe he sold my _babies_ without asking.”

Scott turns to his brother. “Well, it is his _job_ , and technically they're Lord Argent's pups, not yours.”

“That's very helpful, Scott, thanks. Just what I need, another lecture from you about getting too attached. From the guy who cried when his lemon tree died.”

“Hey, that tree was very rare, and it was _mother's_!”

Chris half-listens to Erica and Isaac argue, while Derek and Scott bicker, watches Lydia roll her eyes and pull out her sewing and Boyd flip through a book of recipes.

And for the first time in his life, he feels like he has a _family_.

-

Chris is mildly tipsy when he heads back to the stables, only to find Peter waiting for him, and _he_ 's already three sheets to the wind.

Peter's not even sure what he's doing there.

Well he's sure what he originally wanted, but now after laying here so long, surrounded in Chris' scent, he's starting to think he wants something a little bit more.

Only he can't. Because that would ruin this whole con. If it's even a con anymore.

Peter's just really confused. And sad.

 

Chris looks him over.

“Either take your clothes off or get the fuck out of my bed.”

Something about it hits Peter just wrong, and after a moment of hesitation, he climbs out of Chris' bed and walks toward the door.

Before he knows it, Peter's shoulder is grabbed and he's pulled and turned, back smacking into the stable wall.

“Out of the bed it's going to be then.”

And Peter can't say a word because his head is spinning, and then Chris' mouth is on his, hot and demanding and there's nothing in the swindler that can deny Chris.

He's stripped of his clothing before Peter even realizes, and then his mind fuzzes out as Chris' hand wraps around his half-hard cock, slick with something already.

The false Lord vaguely notices Chris setting a bottle of saddle oil aside.

Peter reaches for the older man, but the stableboy pins his wrists above his head with one hand, and continues to slide his fist along Peter's length.

Chris presses close, rutting his own cock against the hollow of Peter's hip, and whispers into Peter's ear.

“I'm going to fuck you up against this wall, Peter. And every time you look at the stables from the house, every time you watch me work, I want you to think about it.”

Peter sucks in a breath and arcs up into Chris' hand, so close, but there's a sudden loss of friction and the stableboy chuckles darkly at the whimper that escapes from the younger man.

“Patience, love.”

Chris turns him, letting Peter's hands go for a moment, then places them on a bar that runs across the wall.

“There. If you let go of that, I stop.”

Peter curls his hands tightly around the bar and nods dizzily.

“Good boy, Peter.”

Peter moans softly at the praise, and he could get used to hearing that from Chris _so easily_.

“Spread your legs for me, Peter. Show me how much you want it.”

The younger man does as ordered, even going so far as to arch his back and push his ass out.

Chris practically purrs his encouragement. “Oh _look_ at you, Peter. You look _gorgeous_ like this. You're all ready for me, aren't you?”

Peter moans out something that sounds a lot like, “ _Please_ , Chris.”

And the older man _can't_ wait any longer, not after hearing that wanton begging.

He hastily oils his hand and brings it to Peter's exposed backside, running his slippery hand along the dark cleft of Peter's ass, thumb rubbing around the outside rim of his tight hole.

His dick is an angry red, and already leaking against his thigh at the _noises_ Peter makes.

Chris quickly slides one and then two fingers inside, using as much oil as he can because he needs to be inside Peter _now_.

“I'm going to fuck you now, Peter,” he murmurs softly. “I'm going to show you that you're _mine_.”

With a gasp that's echoed by the younger man, Chris slides his length all the way into Peter, curling his hands tightly around the thief's hips, hard enough to leave vivid bruises.

Chris takes a moment, holding himself flush against Peter, just reveling in the feeling of being inside that tight heat.

Eventually, he starts to move, fucking Peter slowly, hands roaming up and down the younger man's sides, reaching to twist a nipple, but he keeps his hands off Peter's cock.

“So good for me, Peter.” Chris reaches up and grabs a handful of Peter's hair, tugging it backwards so that Peter's back curves in, and his ass lifts up more. “My perfect boy.”

When Peter starts writhing beneath him, Chris snaps his hips forward hard and fast three times, striking right into that special bundle of nerves, and Peter lets go of the bar to reach for himself, so close to his end.

Immediately, Chris slides free, gritting his teeth as he does so, and take his hands off Peter. Who honest to goodness _whines_ at the loss.

“You broke the rules, Peter.” Chris' voice is disappointed.

Hurriedly, Peter returns his hand to its place with a whimper.

“You're going to come from me fucking you, or not at all.”

Peter hears something swish through the air a second before a stripe of stinging pain blooms across his still upturned ass.

“I'm going to have to punish you.”

Peter gets ten strokes in all before Chris deems it enough. He makes sure to slide his oiled hand along Peter's painfully hard dick between each earned stripe.

By the time it's done, Peter's got tears rolling down his cheeks, and his ass is on fire, but he's managed to keep his hands on the bar the entire time.

“Wonderful, Peter. You took that so well for me. Are you ready for your reward?”

Peter's _please_ is muffled but audible and Chris smirks.

“Good boy.”

He sheathes himself into Peter in one smooth movement, and then pounds into him relentlessly, until he feels the swindler tense up.

“That's it Peter, come for me.”

Two more hard snaps right into his pleasure spot, and Peter cries out and stiffens, spurting streams of his seed onto the stable wall.

Chris fucks him through it, and then holds the trembling lord still as he finds his own release, coming deep inside the younger man.

Then Chris does something that he hasn't done before. He lets Peter stay.

Chris pulls him into his bed, and curls around him, whispering his approval into the other man's ear until he falls asleep, wrapped in Chris' arms.

Who stays awake for a long while, because he _still_ doesn’t know what he's going to do about Peter, but it's obvious that something needs to be done.

-

Things come to a head one beautiful summer day.

 

Scott has corralled both Chris and Derek to help him weed the vegetable garden. Chris is thinking maybe he's going to fire Scott after all.

Lydia and Erica are in the yard doing the washing, while Isaac does the dusting inside.

Boyd is making ice cream for a dessert surprise.

Peter is holed up in the library with Stiles, going over the contracts for the rebuilding.

Peter doesn't know it yet, but Chris has snuck in plans for quarters for all of their little pack of friends.

Because over the past few months, they've all settled into family. They bicker and have in-jokes, and they've work together to make this place home.

 

Isaac opens the door to the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. And he's terribly glad that everyone else is off on other tasks because he's _never_ lost his composure before.

After a second of staring too long, one of her perfect eyebrows tick up, and Isaac comes back to himself with a start.

Butler. _Right_.

Isaac finally drops into courtesy, and when she introduces herself as Lord Argent's daughter, he has a small internal crisis, because he doesn't know _which Lord she means_.

He directs her to the sitting room, sticks his head out the back door and gives the special whistle that Erica knows means to come running.

And she does, _bless his sister_ because she might tease and mock and sass, but she comes through in an emergency every fucking time.

“Lord Argent's daughter is here.”

“Which one?”

Isaac raises his hands helplessly.

“Shit.”

“That about sums it up.”

Erica nods. “You get Peter and I'll get Chris. Have Lydia take her some tea.”

“Brilliant.”

-

By the time Isaac is able to interrupt Peter and Stiles, because obviously Stiles lights into him the second he walks through the door, and there's no way he's going to let the bastard have the last word, Lydia and Miss Allison are fast friends.

Peter betrays nothing as he walks into the room, dismissing Lydia gently.

He turns to face Allison, and of course, he doesn't know if she's the real deal or someone trying to take advantage and he studies her a moment.

“How can I help you, young lady?”

Allison studies him in return. “I'm waiting for Lord Argent?”

“That _is_ Lord Argent.”

Peter turns to see Chris walking in, and almost falls over.

It's _just not fair_ how sexy that man can be while sweaty and dirty from weeding. The fact that he's in his undershirt which is clinging to him doesn't help.

Allison rises and gives her father the cutest little nose wrinkle. “Why are you _filthy_?”

“Working out in the gardens.”

Then she blinks and puts her hands on her hips. “And what do you mean _that_ is Lord Argent? I thought _you_ were Lord Argent!”

Chris reaches for Peter, who lets himself be pulled close, even though his eyes are narrowed because he's pretty sure that the real lord Argent has been _working in his stable all along._

Not to mention fucking him into the mattress every night.

“We both are,” he says softly, looking into Peter's eyes, an important question being asked.

Peter looks into those eyes and decides. He chooses Chris, no matter the consequences.

The thief lifts his chin to meet his Lord's kiss, for one perfect moment, nothing exists except them.

Then suddenly, there's cheering and clapping and they break apart, startled to see the entire staff, sans a very confused Allison, applauding them.

“It's about time,” sniffs Lydia, and then shooes everyone back to work, before she directs the young lady to a guest room.

Chris sweeps Peter up into his arms, and takes him to their room.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspiration: I Will Buy You A New Life by Everclear
> 
> Please let me know if I have to tag anything. <3
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](goddessofcruelty.tumblr.com)


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